And, like a scene out of a movie, or one of my dreams from freshman year, Matt Fredderic exits from the sliding elevator doors. He’s as tall and well built as I remember, resembling some type of clean-cut supermodel with that slight mischief burning like green embers in his eyes. It’s his personality, the raw sex appeal that seems to drip off him, on and off the ice. He’s always dressed heart-stoppingly perfectly, somehow annoyingly never in just joggers and a T-shirt like most of the other sporty boys. In the summer, though, he’s dressed indecently. A baby-blue linen button-down hangs off his
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